


Celtic challenge of murder ballads, song 2, part 7

by AzureAngel2



Series: "I will never marry", a series of Sheev Palpatine vignettes [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 16:12:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11832321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureAngel2/pseuds/AzureAngel2
Summary: Summary: A pod race lover attends the galaxy's most important event of the year in the Mos Espa Grand Arena. His niece is with him. But events do not go as planned.Time frame: The story takes place during the Invasion of Naboo (32 BBY).Planet of choice: TatooineDisclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company





	Celtic challenge of murder ballads, song 2, part 7

**Story 7:** _“The wind it did whistle”_

 

The Gamorrean is a paramount of his porcine race. You never saw an uglier or greener individual. Intensely, you listen to his grunts and huffs.

“I have to decline your generous offer.”

You could have told him something else. Something much more menacing. You could have even fried him into a crispy sausage and fed him to his siblings, who stand nearby and shuffle their big feet nervously.

“I advice you to look for a fitting sod elsewhere. This one is already taken.”

The Gamorrean whines like a hurt piglet before the slaughter.

“No, poetry and flowers won't do either.”

He squares his broad shoulders, trying to look more imposing, and barks his last attempt in a high pitched voice.

“Her hand is not negotiable in any way.”

On Muunilinst and Malastare nobody would have offered you a dozen banthas for Nagina. Tatooine is undoubtedly Hutt territory. No morals seem to exist around here.

The large nose holes of the Gamorrean tremble. He gazes at Nagina who hides half of her face behind the screen of her portable watching device.

“Nice try, but this is not the bride you are looking for to please the Clan Mother,” you stress.

He sighs deeply, obviously heartbroken when he repeats your words to himself in his own language.

In dismay you shake your head, while the upset giant walks away sobbing inconsolably.

“Come to Mos Espa!” you say under your breath. “Where the village idiots roam free.”

There will come a day when you will wipe this place clean. For now you are here as a fan of the most exciting sport ever – pod racing. Not even for the on-going Naboo invasion did you want to skip the Boonta Eve Classic. The tickets were a birthday present from your niece. You let her down so many times in her life, that you did not want to upset her.

Besides, here on Tatooine Nagina will totally be unaware of the war machine that you have set in motion. At least until you both return to the Core. She follows the intergalactic news on a daily basis. You wish she would not. When you subscribed her for 'HoloNet Entertainment' you really wanted her to watch more love stories and thrillers. Not your political career on Coruscant.

You reach out for her hands. Gently, you place them into your own lap. “Rest assured that I will not sell you to anybody today,” you say. “Not even for a thousand banthas. They would hardly fit into my senatorial apartment, don't you think?”

Your words earn you a weak smile. “Are you not going for a bigger apartment any time soon?” she asks.

“How so?” You look her straight in the eyes, seeing some hesitation. This makes you rephrase the question. “Why, Nagina?”

She leans in. “You seem to be going for Supreme Chancellor.”

There is no way to fool Nagina. As an experienced kindergarten teacher she has a radar for trouble and lies.

“Maybe,” you announce with a wink. “Finis Valorum was in office long enough, wouldn't you say? If he decided to step down, someone effective would need to take over.”

“Any particular reason why it should be you?”

Suddenly, her eyes have a piercing quality. You regret that she cannot be the Sith empress at your side forever more.

“Am I not cut out to be in charge?” you inquire, certain that nobody around you listens into your conversation.

“Bail Organa would also be a fine choice.” She narrows her eyes and you can tell that this has nothing to do with the sun. “A fair one.”

“Too peaceful. Too traditional, if you ask me. This galaxy needs a new vision.”

She giggles. “I am curious about your election campaign already. Who is your elections administrator?”

Before your niece can dig any deeper into the matter at hand, you get up from your seat. “I'll fetch some popcorn for us, shall I?”

“I am not hungry.”

“But you might be later on.”

Determined, you make your way through the row of seats. Some are occupied, others are not.

You could have easily upgraded the seats to a private tribune, but somehow it pleases you immensely to be part of the excited crowd. Among the common people a pod race feels even more real. The sand, the heat, the sweat and, on top it, the noise. All in all you can say that Nagina chose her present for you wisely.

As a Sith it is even your duty to attend today. The local circuit is an ancient course. In the year you started your Sith apprenticeship it had fallen on hard times. It was actually your former master, Darth Plagueis, who came to the rescue. A pod race enthusiast himself, he had supplied Gardulla the Hutt with the necessary finances.

Your pondering is interrupted, because it is time to make your choice at the sales stand.

“Popcorn, please!” you announce to the blue Toydarian and show him your ticket.

He starts shovelling, but the end result is extremely small.

“I want a bigger one,” you complain and lift your sunglasses in dismay.

“Tough _bantha poodoo_ ,” the Toydarian sneers back. “You do not have a golden ticket, but a bronze ticket. This entitles you to the small portion only, no drinks included.”

“One portion?” you echo.

“You should read the terms more carefully, old man, when you book on-line.”

You give the alien your most fatherly smile.

“Argh!” he gurgles all of a sudden.

“Are you not well?” you inquire softly, feigning concern.

While the Toydarian thrashes through the air, his facial colour getting an unhealthy shade, the people behind you take their chance to loot the stand.

“The wind it did whistle,” you comment with a particularly fine smile and start to select what you want.

Not much later you return to Nagina with two huge popcorn containers, a chocolate bar, a lollipop, two giant soft drinks and a parasol.

It sure is nice to get something for free.

“Am I really that fat?” your niece shoots out unexpectedly.

“You won the interest of that Gamorrean for other reasons, my darling girl,” you assure her. “Those piggies have the poor eye sight of a Naboo mole, but, mind you, they have a fine sense of smell.”

Her forehead wrinkles.

“Today you smell like a milaflower,” you compliment her. “Are you using the perfume that I gave you during the last Festival of Lights?”

Nagina nods.

“I wonder who else will ask me for your hand in marriage today,” you chuckle. “Are you willing to accept a Falleen perhaps? I have seen the infamous Prince Xizor around.”

“Sheev!” she shrieks, but your unfortunate birth name sounds more like a sneeze. This is why an elderly Triffis lady hands her a crumbled, but seemingly unused handkerchief.

“Thank you!” Nagina sniffs dignified and you are proud that she has grown into such a well-mannered woman.

You reach out for the program leaflet, printed on a bad quality flimsi sheet. “Let's see! Gasgano, hum no chance, I fear.”

Nagina wriggles closer to you and you place your right arm around her waist, holding on to the leaflet. Together you study the names of the other participants.

“Boles Roor, he is not so bad, uncle.”

It has been a long time since she called you that. Not since the Maul incident.

You scan her with a loving side glance.

Why can't Nagina see how sexy, how provocative she looks in her outfit? Even though she is a big girl it does not change the fact that she has a lovely face. You are also aware that she has a body that most males in this galaxy might dream of at bed time.

“Aldar Beedo is not bad either,” she says, interrupting your train of thought. “His pod racer is an extremely fine model. It features two Manta RamAir Mark IV Flat-Twin Turbojets.”

“But Sebulba is around,” you give to consider. “He will wipe them all out. Including Ebe Endocott and Elan Mak.”

You like a winner to crush the opposition, but on the other hand some variation would be good. The vicious Dug has won too many races unopposed the last season.

Then you gasp.

There is a name on the list that should not be there. You stare at it again, but it does not vanish. The letters start dancing in front of your eyes.

Nagina is unaware of your shock.

Carefully, you reach out in the Force and feel the nine year old. He is in the company of a Jedi somehow.

You bite into the inside of your cheeks.

“Anakin Skywalker?” wonders Nagina, while you try to determine the identity of the boy's companion. “Do you think he is a descendant of Princess Grianán Tjiehennet?”

The famous Serpent bloodline of Draconis. Of course she would know about it. You once hid her in your old apartment for an entire day with but legends and fairy-tales of the Sith to read.

“Oh, look! The leaflet says that this Anakin is not only a local, but only nine years old,” she says, tapping her chin with one finger. “He must be highly Force-sensitive to fly such a thing.”

The last thing you need is your niece finding out what you did.

“Come on!” you try to play the problem down. “Here in the Outer Rim there are many humans with double names like Starkiller, Darklighter and Starstone. I bet even some Whitsuns live here on Tatooine. That the boy carries the name Skywalker is just incidental.”

She crinkles her nose. “What about a census?”

“Only emperors do those,” you joke back.

“That is your real goal, is it not?” she says, her voice small.

“A population census, sure!” you try to appease her.

“No, you going to be emperor, I mean.”

Fortunately, you do not have to answer this one, because the flag carriers march into the arena and Fodesinbeed Annodue, the commentator, starts to address the crowd.

Things are not going quite as foreseen with the boy then. He might come in place sooner than anticipated. How exciting! The future is already in motion.

“What do you think, Nagina? Should we put a small sum on the newcomer?”

She blinks at you.

“No child left left behind. That is your motto, is it not?”

**Author's Note:**

> Sources:  
> The song “I never will marry”, the version of Heather Dale  
> Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki  
> Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia


End file.
